Identity
by thenostalgicdreamer
Summary: On the eve of her engagement, Trish considers the question of identity.


Trish walked up the steps to her apartment two at a time. She couldn't help but be happy. It was Friday, and work was over for the week. As much as she loved running her own managing business, she always looked forward to the adventures the weekend would bring. And this was going to be no ordinary weekend. From she had managed to piece together, it looked like Dez was going to propose to her tomorrow. He was _trying_ to keep the proposal a secret, but surprises just weren't his forte. Although she was sure his proposal was going to be epic, she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that he had had to text her about the "big date" tomorrow when she had always dreamed about being surprised.

At least knowing meant that she could prepare herself for the spectacular day that she was sure he had planned. She wandered into her closet knowing that nothing could make her feel more ready than the perfect outfit. She glanced around. _What about that blue tunic? No, it didn't fit her right. What about the green blazer and purple blouse? Too formal. How about her favorite red dress? No, it would clash with his hair. Maybe she should start with shoes. Maybe she could wear her gold sandals? No, they wouldn't be comfortable if she had to walk a lot. _She was getting stressed already. _Get a grip, Trish_, she told herself glancing in the mirror. _He likes you for who you are, not what you wear. _She pulled the gold necklace out from under her shirt and fingered its delicate charm.

It was a simple yet beautiful necklace with the number "15" woven into an intricate series of olive vines. Fifteen didn't describe her anymore, but this was no ordinary necklace. Ten years ago, her parents had given it to her on one of the most important days of her life, her quienceñera. With each thump of its charm against her chest, she remembered her parents and everything that they had taught her.

Until she had moved away for college, she had taken it all for granted. She hadn't appreciated the Sunday barbecues where her dad had made his famous carne asado. She hadn't realized what a privilege it was to speak both of the languages of her heart on a daily basis. Most of all, it had never struck her how special her family and the traditions that they shared were. When she moved to Louisville for college, everything was different. No longer was she surrounded by Cubans who were vocal about their love of family and their homeland. The world of college felt cold, sterile, and unfriendly. There was no spot on her wall for her quinceañera pictures, no time in her schedule for calling home, and no space in her brain for Spanish. At first, her heart ached thinking of what she was leaving behind, but she soon adjusted to the routine of college life.

It had all been well and good until the summer after she graduated from college. She had gone home to help JJ with their parents surprise 25th anniversary party and had come into contact with many of her old friends and family who she hadn't seen for years. It felt so natural to interact with them, but she was shocked to find herself straining to find certain Spanish words that she would have considered very basic. Suddenly, she realized that she had burying part of her identity in the busyness of college life. If she wasn't careful, it might all slip away from her. Trish was suddenly determined—she would not let that happen. She'd visit home when she had the opportunity. She'd find friends who spoke Spanish. And she would wear her quinceañera necklace always so she'd never forget who she was.

That fall, she had moved to Nashville to take a job managing country singers. There weren't any more Cubans in Nashville than there had been in Louisville, but Trish didn't go through the same experience she had in college. She knew who she was, and she wouldn't let herself forget it even if few people understood the depths of her experience. Despite her determination, she often felt so alone. She found herself longing more than anything to find a man to join her in her little world.

Someday, she had told herself, she would find him. They would have family barbecues in the park just like she had growing up. She could just see her handsome hubby with his jet black hair, chiseled biceps, form fitting shirt, and dark washed jeans. He'd bring the grill and fix the meat with the seasonings that would make it delicious. She'd heat tortillas, make potato salad, and set the table. The mood would be upbeat—to the happy tones of mariachi music. Their kids would be dancing around the table to the music begging for just a bite of the delicious food. Family—his perhaps—would be chattering away in Spanish about the latest soccer game or maybe the weather.

Somehow in a weird twist of fate, she had ended up with Dez instead. She had to shake her head just thinking about it now. During her years in Nashville, she had dated two guys who could have been the husband she'd imagined, but neither of them had been the right guy for her. Instead, she had ended up with the guy who mixed up quienceñeras and quesadillas.

For the first time, Trish realized that marrying Dez would mean saying goodbye to things that were important to her. Her kids would be Wades—not De La Rosas. She didn't dislike his last name, but it didn't reflect a heroic escape from Castro's Cuba. And Dez would never call her _mi esposa_ or talk to her in one of the languages of her heart. Their Sunday barbecues would involve pop hits, hot dogs, and frisbee golf. Considering what she would be giving up, Trish couldn't help but feel sad. Marrying Dez would mean saying goodbye to some of the things that she had fought so hard to hold onto. As much as she loved him, it hurt to say goodbye to the past and know that she would have to close the door on part of who she was.

As she stared into the mirror, her gaze drifted away from her necklace to her shiny black curls, dark eyes, and golden brown complexion. She _was _a Latina, and nothing she could do would change that. It wasn't something that she had put on, fight for, or remember. When something is part of who you are, nothing can change it. Suddenly, she could see that she didn't need some tangible reminder of something that would never change. She put her hands on her necklace clasp and unfastened it.

Marrying Dez would mean sacrifices—love always did. He'd never be that macho Cuban she'd be dreaming about, but he would be her Dezzy. They'd make new traditions, and they'd love each other with all their hearts. She would say yes to his proposal knowing that she'd always be Trish and part of that mean being a Latina even if her name was Trish Wade.


End file.
